Helping Hand
by csi101
Summary: A short one chapter look at what happened after Nick found McKeen in For Warrick.  Shows a snapshot of Nick and Sara's brother/sister relationship.


**Just a short one chapter story this time. As always, reviews are more than welcome. **

Nick Stokes walked the length of the corridor in almost a daze – one foot in front of the other and virtually unaware of the hustle and bustle around him and headed into the locker room, backhanding the door shut after him.

He shuffled to the back of the room and leant against the cool wall, slowly sinking downwards until he was sitting on the floor, hidden by the row of lockers, then he brought his knees up as a brace for his elbows and buried his head in his hands. He sat like that for several long minutes before dropping his hands down and resting his head back against the wall.

He missed Warrick already. It had only been 2 days.

48 hours.

Nick had just arrived back at the lab after a gruelling race against time to locate and arrest Undersheriff McKeen.

He had been the one to find him, crawling like the maggot he was, away from the car wreck that contained the body of his scapegoat – Daniel Pritchard. He had listened to his vile recount of how he had shot Warrick and for a second he almost pulled the trigger. He had almost sent Warrick some company.

But he didn't .

He had sent the bullet into the ground next to McKeen's head instead.

And then Brass and his uni's had arrived. They had read McKeen his rights as he lay bleeding on the ground and as Nick turned his back and walked away.

He stood with his back to it all, trying to calm the storm raging in his head, as they radioed for a medical evacuation helicopter.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him around. He flinched under the glare of a very angry police captain.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Brass snapped. "What was going through your head? He was armed, Nick! What? You think you're superman now? You're a CSI! You leave the chasing to us, we leave the processing to you – that's how it works! You do not go it alone – did you learn nothing from 3 years ago!"

His last few words hit Nick like a slap and he pulled back, pulling his arm away from the captain. Brass realised the sting in those words too late and he dropped his head and sighed deeply to regain control. After a couple of seconds he looked up, feeling tired and old, and reached out again to rest a gentle arm against Nicks shoulder.

"Sorry, kid." he said quietly. "I didn't mean...just...don't pull a stunt like that again, OK? We've already lost one good man..."

Nick gave a short nod and made eye contact with Brass.

"I'm sorry, Jim." he said. "I wasn't thinking straight."

The tone of his voice and the emotion clouding his eyes proved to Brass how genuine his apology was. If there was one thing you could rely on with Nick, Brass thought, it was his honesty. The kid had been carried away with his grief and the desperate, insane need to avenge his best friend's murder.

Jim watched him a moment more before nodding and punching Nick lightly on the shoulder.

"OK," he said, "you sit here and get your head together. I'm gonna get this son of a bitch ready for transport."

The medivac helicopter, complete with McKeen and an accompanying uniformed officer onboard, lifted gracefully into the air as Nick sat by himself amongst the trees - watching it rise upwards. He watched as it hovered momentarily before gliding off towards Las Vegas. It reminded him of a hummingbird.

He loved birds.

How wonderful it would be, he thought, to be able to fly. Not in a plane or a helicopter. But to actually fly. To _be_ a bird.

To be able to soar free.

He hoped that was where Warrick was now. Soaring free of Earthly constraints.

He hoped he had found peace.

"Hey." Catherine's quiet voice intruded on his thoughts. "You OK?"

Nick gave her a slight smile and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, pushing himself up from the ground and dusting himself off, "yeah, I'm alright. Just thinking, y'know."

"Yeah,Nicky." she replied, pausing before adding, "I know."

By the time they got back to the lab, Nick was exhausted. Drained - physically and emotionally. It was just starting to dawn on him how close he had come to taking another person's life. He would never have believed he could kill someone out of sheer anger. Now, he didn't know what he was capable of.

He made it to the locker room and slid down the wall, hidden mostly from view by the row of lockers that stretched the length of the room.

He really needed to be alone.

Just over 48 hours ago, Warrick had still been alive.

In a little over 48 hours, they would be burying him.

It played on Nick's mind - that in a handful of days someone, ANYONE, could go from being alive and vibrant and well to being dead and buried.

Relegated to being nothing more than a memory.

It could all happen so quickly. Life could be over so quickly.

It had so very nearly been that way for him.

In the space of 48 hours he too had gone from being young and trusting to a man who had stared death in the face and had learned how very fragile his existence was.

He heard the door of the locker room open and stayed still. Not wanting to be found just yet.

He heard soft footsteps and the sound of a locker being opened and he heard the sounds of a busy lab filtering in through the now open locker room door. He listened as the person collected their belongings and closed the locker again.

A cell phone rang out through the small room.

"Hi, Mom."

Catherine.

Still he sat without moving – listening quietly and unintentionally to the conversation with her mother – until he heard her voice die away as she left the room.

He heard the locker room door close again – the sounds of the lab once again muted.

He closed his eyes tight as memories of his abduction merged with memories of Warrick's lifeless body.

He brought his hands up and pushed his palms hard against his eye sockets fighting hard against the sudden threat of tears. He felt an intense flood of heat rise up into his face and he lay his head back against the cool plaster wall and tried desperately to get his breathing under control. He really did not want to open the flood gates here. He doubted he would be able to stop the tears once they started. Better to go through that in the privacy of his own home. But he could feel them just below the surface.

He was so consumed in his fight to maintain control, he didn't hear the locker room door open again. But this time it closed straight after. He took a couple of steadying, stuttering breaths in and felt the heat start to recede.

"Are you OK?"

He was startled by the soft voice – full of concern.

He took his hands away from his eyes and focused on Sara who was standing in front of him. He tried to give her a smile but it disappeared almost before it formed, and half chuckled, half sobbed as he nodded. But the nod quickly became a shake of the head which, further, became a shrug.

He didn't know if he was alright. He didn't know if anything would be alright, ever again.

Sara smiled at him – a kind, compassionate smile and moved to slide down next to him in the small space between him and the corner of the room. She reached out and grabbed his hand – gripping it tightly and hanging on.

She felt his hand tremble beneath hers and moved to take it instead with her other hand so that her free arm could rest along his shoulders.

He gave a wan smile and moved his head towards her. She mirrored by moving her head to rest against his and the two friends sat drawing comfort from each other.

"I've missed you, Sar." he murmured. "I'm glad you're here."

He felt her squeeze his hand and the two continued to sit in silence. Nick closed his eyes and found that the memories which had paralysed him had suddenly been tamed.

They sat in a companionable silence for almost 15 minutes before Sara brought her hand up from his shoulder and ruffled his hair.

"Come on," she said quietly, "I think it's time we went home. I know that I need sleep and I'm guessing that you need it more than me. We've got a rough few days ahead of us."

Nick nodded.  
"Thanks, Sar." He said softly as he pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his back tweaked.

Sara accepted the hand he offered her and pulled herself up off the floor as well.

"That's what friends are for, Nick." She replied. "Remember that, OK."

Nick gave her hand a brief, tight squeeze.

"Thankyou, my friend." He murmured.

THE END


End file.
